


Burn Box

by GreenRogue



Series: In All their Angsty Hurt [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Depressed Sam Winchester, Forgiveness, Gen, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, mention of suicide, slight ooc?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenRogue/pseuds/GreenRogue
Summary: Dean carefully lifted the worn out lid with a smile and peered inside the box. His bubble of big brother joy deflated instantly when the first thing he spotted was his old amulet right on top.Finding secrets with no answers lead the brothers into dreaded chick-flick territory. But sometimes a feels conversation is needed to move forward.
Series: In All their Angsty Hurt [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480616
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	Burn Box

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write from Dean's point of view often as I don't connect with him as well as Sam. If he seems OOC my bad, hopefully it's not too horribly noticeable. 
> 
> As always I do not own Supernatural or the characters, I just like to hurt them :)

* * *

“Remind me again, why are we doing this?” Mary rolled her eyes at her eldest for what felt like the thousandth time as she pulled the dirty linen from the bed.

“Because Dean, he’s been sick and we need to air out his room before he gets back with Cas and Jack. And ya know, cause it’s nice?” As she straightened, she shot Dean what he called her “signature mom look” and he grumbled while sweeping the floor around him.

“Yeah, yeah yeah—fine. That kid better appreciate the things I do for him.” Dean mumbled under his breath. Mary stood with a full laundry basket and paused by Dean to place a gentle hand on his cheek. He turned to her briefly, gaze softening as a small smile quirked up.

“You know he will, and so do I.” Giving his cheek a quick pat she walked away, laundry on her hip. Before turning past the door she leaned back and gave Dean a knowing look before saying, “Don’t forget under the bed Dean”. He left the soft smile on his face until she was out of view and let it fall into a scowl. Shaking his head like a petulant teenage he mocked under his breath “ _Don’t forget under the bed Dean”._ As he turned away, Mary’s voice echoed down the hall “I heard that!” Dean looked from side to side, before glancing at the ceiling in suspicion.

“Microphones, I swear, she’s installed microphones”. Shaking his head again, Dean finished gathering his current pile of dust and dirt before kneeling next to the bed for a quick cheap clean before calling it quits. His mind was already wandering to the cold bottles of beer sitting in the backseat of baby and the fishing dock with his name on it when the broom pushed something solid out the other side of the bed and into the wall. The soft “thunk” raised Dean’s head over the top of the bed, eyebrow raised in confused intrigue.

He could see on the floor against the wall was a worn out shoe box. At first glance he could see it was old, a picture of a style of sneakers on its side and for a moment Dean tried to think about the last time Sam even wore sneakers. The corners looks like they had layers upon layers of duct tape holding the stupid thing together. The cardboard of the lid looks smashed several times over and parts of the print looked worn away from years of fingers rubbing against it.

Curiosity officially peaked, Dean rushed the rest of the sweeping and grabbed the box before heading towards his own room.

“Ma, it’s all set, I’ll be in my room if ya need me”. Not waiting for a response, Dean fairly rushed through his own door before throwing the lock and staring down at his procured treasure. He set it gently down on the bed in front of him and gleefully rubbed his hands together before sitting at the head of the bed so he could loom over his haul. Praying for a porn stash, Dean carefully lifted the worn out lid with a smile and peered inside the box. His bubble of big brother joy deflated instantly when the first thing he spotted was his old amulet right on top.

His throat tightened from an unidentified emotion and Dean fought to push it down as he tossed the lid to the side with a careless thought. The amulet looked the same it always had. The closed eyes and overlarge horns. Dean pulls it out of the box gingerly and fingers one of the horns. Now that he thought about it, he remembers Sam had it when Chuck came for a chat. He remembers seeing the glowing light from Sam’s pocket and the brief overwhelming moment of familial nostalgia when he held its comforting weight. But then they were at the bunker—with God—and it had been lost again.

Now, with its familiar face staring back at him, Dean felt his lips twitch in a small smile before falling into a deep frown. Why had Sam kept this from him? Why keep it in a box under the bed? Shaking his head, he set it aside for the moment, more curious now about the other objects underneath.

The next thing he sees is a scroll tied with a simple black ribbon. Dean tries to peer inside before untying it and shakes his head at himself.

“I swear to god Sammy if this is like—some nerd thing, you’re never gonna live this down.” Dean sticks his tongue out in glee as he unravels the fuel for his future burns. He unrolls it, prepared to laugh hysterically when he hesitates. His eyes mist over and for a moment he has to look away. His throat burns as sadness nearly overwhelms him. He turns back and stares at the stylized map Charlie once had of Moondoor. Her simple scrawling handwriting was in the margins next to Dean’s chicken scratch. He remembers that day after the fairy was released. He and Charlie poured over the map trying to come up with the best battle strategy. Her warm smile and enthusiasm had helped push back the creeping darkness that day. He remembers Sam watching them both, a soft smile on his lips as he applied the battle makeup Charlie insisted they wear. Unable to handle the feeling in his chest any further, Dean is about to roll the map back up when he notices a small note in the corner, originally hidden under his hand.

Rubbing at his eyes fiercely, Dean clears his throat and tries to zero in on the detail he missed. He hopes this mystery will help drive out the ghosts that echo in his mind. Unfortunately, luck was not on the Winchester’s side today. In neat scroll, painstakingly written as small as possible in the corner; almost like it was afraid to entrench where it did not belong, was Sam’s neat writing:

**_It should be you up there_ **

Flashes of a rage filled night echo in his mind. A rising pyre, flames extended towards the sky as they burned one of their last friends. His spiteful, hurtful words ringing in his ears.

‘ _You wanna know what I think? I think it should be you up there and not her’._ Dean closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, there were so many times he wished he could think before opening his mouth. Sam always seemed to get the brunt of his pained anger and however hard he had wished, Dean could never take back the venomous words he spewed in grief. Slowly he re-rolled the scrolled map and set it aside carefully, eyes burning with tears he refused to let spill. He sat for a moment in the quiet, staring without seeing at the box in front of him. Dean blew out a short breath before lowering his head to rest in his hands.

“Why would you keep all this Sam--?” Suddenly Dean did not want to venture further into the box, didn’t want to see what pains Sam had held onto all these years. But the Winchester guilt complex was strong, and Dean needed to know. Slowly he focused his eyes back into the box and glanced at the remaining items. He could see a few pictures, turned upside down with messy writing on the back, a piece or worn notebook paper folded and tucked around them and underneath it all, an old palm pilot phone with a cracked screen.

Dean grabbed the photos first and bit his lower lip, desperately wishing he’d had a stash of whiskey in his room. The writing on the back was mostly faded but he could make out the words ‘ _my fault’_ in the middle. As he flipped the picture over the image in front of him made it hard to swallow as he stared at the somber faces of Ellen, Jo, Bobby—Sam, Dean, and Castiel. The last image of some of their friends before the fated day against Lucifer. Dean ran his thumb affectionately against the edge of the picture, the color had somewhat faded over time but he could still remember the tenseness from that night, the uncertainty of what was to come.

Placing that aside he stared for a moment at the next, the lump in his throat growing stronger.

_For the girl I was going to spend the rest of my life with – I’m sorry I got you killed, please forgive me_

A blonde girl was smiling up at him as he flipped that picture over and it took him a second to recognize her. Jessica’s laughing eyes still seemed to sparkle in the old image as Sam had an arm draped over her shoulders. She was wearing some costume that looked like a nurse’s outfit and Halloween decorations surrounded them. Sam was smiling brightly, his eyes clear as they stared at Jessica’s profile. Taped to the picture was a ring. A simple band with a small diamond, nothing to write home about but one that Dean knew brought Sam all sorts of pain.

Dean wiped at his cheeks as he set that picture aside as well, ignoring the hot wetness on his palm. He breathed deeply, heart stuttering in his chest as memories of that night encroached on his mind. The look of pain and panic on Sam’s face as he dragged him from the raging fire. The sheer brokenness of his voice as he called out Jessica’s name. Dean knew Sam lost everything in that fire, he also knows he lost a part of Sam that night as well. His brother was never the same afterwards, he was never Sammy again even when Dean tried to bring him back. Sammy died that day with the love of his life.

Both weary and resigned, Dean turned back to the last photo in his hand and had to close his eyes again against the hateful words practically carved into the paper.

_Monster, Freak, Abomination, Useless, Betrayer, Broken_

He turned it over, not fully surprised to see Sam’s face. He remembers Bobby taking that photo. It was the day Sam truly returned from Hell, soul and all. He was smiling and drinking beer, for a moment everything seemed good and fair. For a moment Dean had his brother back and that was all he could ask for. Then it was all lost, all crumbled away with the destruction of the Hell wall by Cas.

Dean tossed that picture aside as well, the first curls of anger warming his gut and he reached back into the box and grabbed the fragile paper next. He stared at it a moment without opening it, too afraid of what he would find. He set it back in the box and leaned back on his bed. His heart hurt inside his chest and part of him felt like he’d violated some privacy Sam expected. Like these were secrets better left buried and—hopefully—forgotten. Steeling his nerves again however, Dean leaned forward once more and grabbed the paper; opening it quickly like a band aide he started to read before dropping it and standing abruptly.

_Dean-_

_I hope you understand when you find this letter I’ve done all that I can do but in the end I was just too weak. Lucifer is coming and I can’t—I just can’t be what everyone thinks I am. I know I let you down, hell I let everyone down. This was my best option and in the end I know you’ll see that too. My belongs should be—_

Dean couldn’t take it anymore, the beginnings of a suicide note that should have never been written stared back at him and he fell to his knees hard and tried to hold in the scream of frustration. How could Sam have written this? When did he write this? Dean was too afraid to look, too afraid to let it continue.

He fell back on his ass and leaned against the cold cement wall, staring at the spread contents on his bed. Dean wasn’t sure how long he remained motionless, he couldn’t tell you how much time had passed that he spent staring at Sam’s secrets on his bed. It wasn’t until he heard a soft knock on his door that he physically felt himself blink and pull his gaze away from the bleeding heart lying accusingly in front of him.

“Hey Dean, we’re back. Cas and Jack are gonna head out on a food run, do you want—dude you okay?” Sam’s tall frame silhouetted against the hall lights and he could just vaguely make out the worried hazel eyes staring at him. In a blink, Sam was kneeling next to him, warm hands cupping his neck as Sam looked for any outward injuries.

“Dean, hey Dean, talk to me—what happened—what—“ He stopped as Dean raised a hand slowly and placed it gently on Sam’s arm. He knew his eyes were red from crying and his cheeks were itchy from the dried tears. Slowly he let his gaze pull away and focus back on the box on his bed. He knew when Sam saw it, felt the way his brother’s breath caught in his chest and Dean tightened his grip on his brother’s arm. When all this started Dean had so many questions, so many conflicting responses to the emotional daggers his brother left to be found but in this moment he could only think of one.

“Why?” His voice croaked. A whispered plea in the fragile silence and Sam flinched like he was shouting. Dean felt his heart fracture slightly at the wounded gaze Sam cast to the floor and felt bereft of his warmth when his hand retreated.

“You weren’t supposed to find that—I meant to burn it a long time ago, just—never found the time”. Dean must have still been pretty out of it because the next thing he knew, Sam was bending over the bed and carefully repacking the contents from view. His back was to his brother, but Dean could see the tenseness in his shoulders—the weariness in his stature. Dean clumsily stood and grabbed onto Sam’s arm again and forced him to turn around. The note was still gripped tight in his large hand, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sam—man please—why?” Slowly his brother opened his eyes but still wouldn’t meet Dean’s gaze. Instead it settled on a spot on the wall just to his left. His breathing was slow, stubbornly and insistently slow—like he was staving off a panic attack.

“It was a long time ago Dean—doesn’t mean anything anymore anyway. It’s not important, please let it go.” Chick flicks be damned, Dean’s big-brother instincts were swelling up within him. Old habits die hard in the Winchester clan and the urge to protect and comfort was growing stronger every second.

“Listen to me little brother, I don’t care if it was decades, or weeks—I want to know what these are. I want to know—“ his voice caught a little and Dean swallowed hard, “I want to know how long these things have been eating you alive.” Sam seemed to deflate slowly and he sank onto the edge of the bed, Dean followed with him, kneeling on the floor in front of him and keeping his hand on Sam’s arm like an anchor as he stared up at Sam’s face.

It was a strange moment for Dean to notice, but he could see the age around Sam’s eyes. The lines of stress and worry had etched deeply into his brother’s gaze. The never before noticed permanent frown marring his skin and making him look older than he should. The gray hairs that at some point snuck up when Dean wasn’t looking. He could see the years scarred in Sam’s eyes as they gazed at unseeing memories. Dean never really took the moment to really look at Sam, to really see what his little brother had become after the heartache and despair took chucks out of him. Sam took a small breath before glancing at Dean again then looking at the note in his hands.

“It’s uh, it’s called a burn box. When I was alone—well—when I was with Amelia she made me go see a shrink. Something about sleepless nights and long staring contests into space wasn’t healthy and she wanted me to see someone about—about my loss.” Sam fidgeted where he sat and Dean could see the shame welling up in his eyes.

“It’s stupid really—the Doctor—something about, burning your past to set you free. I—I don’t know what I thought when I was putting this together. Really I meant to burn it a long time ago. But then you called and it just—I forgot about it for a long time. Too much else going on you know? Then I found it when we cleaned out the car and I just—I hid it. I didn’t—I never wanted you to find it” Dean could feel Sam’s breathing increasing and he raised his hand to cup the side of Sam’s neck and squeezed gently.

“Sammy—listen to me—those words in there, those things you remember and wrote down. They mean nothing. They aren’t you, they don’t define you—and the things I said—“ Dean sought out Sam’s eyes, forcing them to stare directly at each other. “I’m sorry—what I said, I didn’t mean it. And I could blame it on the Mark or on grief, or something stupid like that but really—I was a dick and I was hurting and I wanted you to hurt right alongside with me. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so, so sorry.” Sam was nodding hard and blinking furiously, trying to stave off the tears that were threatening to fall. Dean could see Sam was fighting with himself over this and resolved to really drive the point home. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against Sam’s and breathed deeply with his eyes closed.

“You’re my brother Sam, my one and only. Remember, you and me, always little brother. I may not show it or say it often but dammit-- I love you. Nothing, I mean **nothing** is gonna change that. Stone number one—remember?” Sam huffed a small breath of laughter and nodded again against Dean’s head.

“Yeah—yeah stone number one.” Dean ran his thumb affectionately against his brother’s skin before patting him gently and standing. He grabbed the note from Sam’s hand and tossed it in the box with the rest of the stuff and dropped the lid in place and grabbed the whole kit-n-caboodle.

“C’mon.” He pulled Sam to his feet and led him towards the war room and up the stairs. Jack, Mary, and Cas were sitting at one of the library tables talking when Mary raised her head and gave Dean a quizzical look.

“Where’re you two headed?” Dean gave her a quick glance before pulling on Sam’s arm a bit more to keep him from stalling out.

“We’re headed out, don’t wait up.” He didn’t spare them another glance as he steered his brother up the stairs and out into the cool night air.

Baby sat gleaming in the waning moonlight, as if waiting for the brother’s arrival and Dean smiled at the old reliable feeling that welled in his chest. Pushing Sam towards the passenger side he grunted “Get in” before opening the driver’s side door. He placed the shoebox between them on the seat and they sat for a moment in the quiet. Both were looking at the box between them, almost like a physical manifestation of the divide that had existed for far too long in their relationship. As one they both looked up and for a moment Dean could physically feel Sam’s uncertainty as it lingered in the air around them. He nodded more to himself than anything and started the car with a rumble and took off into the cool Kansas night, radio playing low as they drove.

He took wandering roads for what felt like ages until he pulled over next to an empty field and shut the engine off. The crickets chirped around them and he glanced over at Sam’s profile with clear eyes. His brother sat still, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth as he gnawed on the tender flesh with an anxious habit. He glanced over at Dean and raised an eyebrow in question. Dean smiled at him and grabbed the box. Jerking his head, he climbed out of the car and watched as Sam followed. After an hour of driving around, finally Sam cleared his throat.

“Dean, what’re we doing out here?” Dean paced away from the car a few steps, letting the light from the moon and stars illuminate his path before setting the box down and grabbing the lighter from his coat pocket. He turned to Sam and held it out to him in his open palm.

“I know I’ve said it before, but this—right here—clean slate. Nothing from this defines what we are now. Nothing in this box is worth wasting your time and energy on. You’re not a monster Sam, you’re not an abomination, you didn’t cause Jessica’s or Jo’s or Ellen’s deaths. You are more than the sum of your mistakes. You’re my brother, I’m nothing without you and I need you to let this go. Let this pain go. Forgive me, and forgive yourself.” Sam stared at the lighter, his hand twitching at his side before looking up into Dean’s eyes.

“I forgave you a long time ago Dean—this isn’t, this wasn’t me holding onto a grudge, I need you to know that”. Dean nodded solemnly and took a step forward.

“I know Sam, I know. But now you need to forgive yourself, you can’t keep living this way. You can’t keep one foot in the present and one in the past. I need you here with me, always.” Sam glanced back at the lighter again and with a shaky hand grabbed it from Dean. He took a few steps forward and flicked the cap off, sparking the tiny flame. He hesitated another moment, looked back at Dean before staring back down at the shoebox.

The lighter’s flame danced in the light breeze as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sinking to his knees, Sam tilted his head forward, hair falling into his face to hide his gaze from Dean as he lowered the lighter and watched the old cardboard catch fire. He stood slowly and Dean turned to brush his shoulder next to Sam’s, a silent show of approval and support. Dean still had so many questions. So many unanswered curiosities that begged to be released but he pushed those down for now. For now, it was good enough to stand with his brother and watch the mistakes burn.

He knew this wasn’t the end of it, far from it. He knew there were still wounds that needed tending, festering emotional boils that needed lancing to fully heal, but for now—for now Dean could finally see the other side of the great divide, and Sam on the other side.


End file.
